


Hunger

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cannibalism, F/M, Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hunger is like a physical ache, gnawing at my insides, feeling like claws.</p><p> </p><p>For the "hunger/starvation" box on my hc_bingo card. This is what happens when I'm up at 3 or 4 in the morning and can't sleep. I don't even know, I really don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

The hunger is like a physical ache, gnawing at my insides, feeling like claws. I'm deep down, and the wards are holding tightly. I can feel them press at me, but I try to push past them just the same. I touch the stones and try to find a fingerhold, but they're slippery and my fingers slide off. The hunger is growing worse, and there isn't anything left in my teeth. I've been trying to lick at them, working the metallic taste onto my tongue to assuage that hunger. It isn't working.

I look up at the hole in the ceiling and howl at the pale face there.

"I'm sorry," he tells me, gray eyes cloudy with pain. His hair is so pale, so fine. I wonder what it would taste like. His father's hadn't tasted like anything, not like the blood and viscera had, not like the tasty bits deep inside. I had hoped it would taste like candy floss, but it hadn't.

I run my hand through my own hair and clumps of it falls out. I add it to the pile of shining red-gold strands in the corner. His eyes track my movements, linger on the hair. "You can come down and get it," I say, voice rough with need.

"He shouldn't have cursed you," he tells me abruptly, hands clutching at the hole in the ceiling of this room. It's an oubliette, and there's nothing but darkness behind him. His pale face and hair shines like a beacon in this darkness, and all I want is to taste it. "But now we can't undo it."

"I was _hungry,"_ I tell him, nearly snarling. I bare my teeth at him and he flinches. I work my tongue around one of my molars, hoping to find a bit of blood still in the crevices there, something tasty to suck at. There's nothing left, nothing. Instead, the flat molar is being pushed out of my mouth, and I spit it out. I add that to the pile in the corner next to the hair.

I push at the walls again, and this time I look at my hands. There are three joints on the fingers now, two on my thumbs. My nails are harder, thicker, more like claws. I give an experimental swipe at the walls, but they're still too slippery to cimb. I howl and choke as the hunger claws at my insides, and I spit vile curses at him. He doesn't understand the words, I can see that in his eyes. He feels guilty, but he doesn't understand what I'm telling him.

"Ginny," he murmurs, closing his eyes.

Suddenly I remember the wails he made earlier, when he thought he could introduce me to his parents. His mother hadn't been very pleased, but she was polite and was willing to talk to me, to get to know me. "I've been surprised by stranger things," she had said, and I smiled at her a little shyly. His father had terrified me; I don't remember now why he terrified me so much. Something about a book. Something about darkness and teeth. He had stood up and shouted at this young man, his son, my lover.

 _Draco._

I intervened, I was that kind of a person. Draco's father hadn't appreciated that, and started shaping a nasty curse to throw at me. Draco shouted at his father, his mother had screamed, and Draco tried to push me out of the way to take the curse himself.

It hit me square in the chest, and all I knew was _hunger._

The hunger is still here. I'm _starving,_ and the scraps that Draco had dropped into this oubliette with me are gone. There are nothing but bones now, the marrow already sucked dry. His mother had screamed, hadn't liked his solution. She doesn't want to keep me here. She's afraid of me.

I'm sure that fear will make her blood tasty. I'm sure it will be like wine, that her kidneys will be delicious as it slides down my throat. I dream of that taste. I dream of the feel of the meat between my fingers, that my hunger will be sated, however briefly. That's the only thing that will help. The animals that Draco gave me don't last long at all. They don't taste as good, and my insides churn even thinking about the rancid taste of cooked flesh he tried to feed me.

"I'm _hungry."_

"I know," he whispers, eyes shut tight. He struggles to breathe, to face me, to look me in the eye with anything but fear and pity and guilt.

I imagine he's picturing me feeding on his father, the moist sounds of chewing and the clack of teeth on bone. My teeth are different now, sharper, longer. The last of the red-gold hair slides soundlessly from my scalp, and I toss it aside. He can come get it if he wants it. The sight of it makes him cry. I don't know how long it's been since the curse, but the hunger is ever present and it _hurts_ and Draco knows how to make it stop. He knows what I need, but he simply won't give it to me. He's too afraid to. He wants to keep me locked here in the oubliette, wants to hide what his father did. He thinks the wards will hold.

I push against them. I'm stronger now, getting stronger all the time. My hands are longer, my skin thicker and tougher. My nails are like claws. My teeth are sharp and long, and I see farther into the dark behind him than I had before. I can make out the outline of stones, the spiderwebs and dust. I am in the lower reaches of the basement at Malfoy Manor, and there is only so much time before the wards break before me.

"I'm hungry, Draco," I say. My voice is different from what he remembers, and it startles him. I barely remember what I sounded like before, but I know this isn't it. "You need to feed me," I continue, trying to wheedle and croon. My voice is rough now, gravelly and low, the sound of leaves over stone. My stomach rumbles and he lets out a choking sound. "I'm starving, Draco. It's cruel to do this to me. You have to end my suffering."

And now I go for the gullet. "I thought you loved me."

He reacts as if slapped, recoiling from the opening of the oubliette. He disappears from the opening and all I hear is his struggle to breathe. It's harsh in the silence, and I imagine how soft and bloody his lungs would be in my hands when I rip his ribs apart. The heartsblood would be tender and tasty, the muslce a delicacy I would savor. He loves me, after all. He said so all the time, and this would be how he proves it to me. How else can you show your undying love for someone than to feed them?

Draco leaves and I scream. I don't know how long he is gone.

When he returns, I am quiet because of the gnawing hunger clawing at my gut. All the mortal teeth are piled neatly in the corner next to the shining red-gold hair. All the strands lie flat now, since I had the time to play with it. They don't taste like candy floss at all.

"Draco," I rasp. My voice doesn't sound remotely human anymore. The hole in the ceiling is high, the oubliette is deep and the wards still hold against me.

He appears at the lip of the hole in the ceiling, staring down at me. There is no recognition whatsoever in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he says finally. "You were Ginny once, and I love you," he says, voice cracking at the seams. I imagine how his tongue will taste and I'm licking my lips. "I can't reverse what he did, I don't know how. I've looked..." His voice cracks again, and I stare up at him, imagining the taste of his eyes. "I can't help you. I'm sorry, Ginny. I'm so sorry."

I nearly ask him what he means when suddenly he throws something at me. It's like a spear, and at first I want to laugh. Does he think he can really hurt me?

But it's silver. And it _burns,_ and I howl in pain and rage. I feel weak, the flesh peeling back from the silver of the spear. Blue-black blood dribbles from the gaping wound, and I simply howl. If anything, the hunger is even more fierce than this pain. I can tolerate it. I can tolerate the blisters along my palm as I try to pull the spear from my side, mentally calculate the angle to throw it back at Draco.

"I do love you," he whispers above me. I see a short stick in his hand as I look up. I laugh. How can that hurt me? It's not silver. I lick at my own blood, eat at my own flesh. This will give me strength enough to hurt him back, to break through those wards and enter Malfoy Manor. There is flesh there. There is food. I will feast and then I will be free, and I gnash my teeth at Draco in defiance. He can't hurt me. That stick in his hand isn't silver.

I had forgotten what wands are.

"Incendio."

 

The End


End file.
